


we'll build our altar here

by butwewillstay



Category: Hadestown - Mitchell
Genre: F/M, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:14:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24264178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/butwewillstay/pseuds/butwewillstay
Summary: Five train rides back up top, through time.
Relationships: Hades/Persephone (Hadestown)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 43





	we'll build our altar here

**Author's Note:**

> Time period notes:  
> Ancient Greece became prominent in the 8th century BCE, so I imagine the first scene taking place just before that, sometime in the 9th century BCE. The first passenger steam locomotives gained popularity in the 1830s, and I imagine Hadestown taking place in the 1930s, so that is when scenes II and IV take place, respectively. Scene III is about 15 years before Hadestown. Scene V takes place some time in the early 21st century. 
> 
> [Content Warnings: Brief mentions of alcoholism]
> 
> Title from "Bedroom Hymns" by Florence + The Machine

It’s an old song, and they keep playing it. Even at their worst times, when it feels like everything is horribly out of tune, Persephone knows that their rhythm will continue. Six months up top, six months down below, over and over and over.

**I.**

The first time she leaves him, there isn’t a train to ride. Instead, they walk side-by-side through the dimly lit tunnel that connects his realm to the mortal world. Persephone spends much of the walk fiddling with her ring, because it is all she will have of him for the next six months. 

Six months. 

She hasn’t even left yet, but she wants more than anything to go back home. She curses her Ma and her Pa and the Fates and everything that had damned her to this awful situation. Hera and Amphitrite got to spend the full year with their husbands, but not her, even though she’s just as much a queen as either of them. 

Her time in the Underworld had flown by. She loves her kingdom, and she doesn’t know how she’s supposed to help her husband rule it if she’s only there for half the year. 

She stares at Hades, trying to memorize every feature of his face for their months apart. His mouth is set in a grim line, and his hand is clutching her valise tightly as if he can’t bear to let go (he had insisted on carrying it, because he’s a gentleman; although she thinks he just wanted to hold on to something of hers for a bit longer). 

They walk in comfortable silence for a while. They’ve already said their goodbyes, whispered promises throughout the night and into the morning as they held each other as close as they could. 

When they reach the mouth of the cave, Hades hesitates, and Persephone knows why. Demeter is standing just outside the entrance to the Underworld, with her arms crossed and an impatient look on her face.

“Kore!” She calls when she sees them, and a relieved look flickers across her face before it’s replaced by one of irritation. Persephone sees her mother purse her lips as she takes in her black chiton and cloak, which are a far cry from the ragged green robes she had been wearing a year ago. “You’re late.”

“Sorry, Ma.” Persephone says, and she steps out of the tunnel and into the sun (and she loves the Underworld, but it’s certainly nice to be back among nature and  _ life _ ). 

Demeter’s eyes narrow slightly when Hades steps out beside her. 

“Demeter.” Hades says to greet her, and Persephone knows he’s trying to parse exactly how angry her Ma currently is at him for marrying her daughter without asking permission first. 

“Hades.” Her mother’s voice is cold, but it’s an improvement over threatening curses, which was what she had been doing six months ago, before Persephone had convinced her to calm down through a series of strongly worded letters. 

“Come on,” Demeter turns back to Persephone, and motions for her to follow her. “I’d like to get home ‘fore sunset.”

Persephone wants to rage about the  _ unfairness _ of it all, because she cannot stand that she can’t get out of her Ma’s stifling grasp, no matter how much she tries. But it’s useless, and there’s nothing she or Hades can do about it. 

Her husband offers her the valise, and he opens his mouth to say something, but before he can speak she throws her arms around him and pulls him close in an embrace. She hates this, hates her parents treating her like a  _ child _ , and hates this terrible  _ custody arrangement _ . She buries her face in his neck, and tries to hold back tears.

“Promise you’ll write?” She asks.

“I promise, lover.” Hades says into her hair, and tightens his grip around her momentarily.

She pulls back after a minute and kisses him fiercely, because she won’t see him for  _ six months _ and she doesn’t care anymore what her Ma thinks. It’s desperate and she’s angry and miserable, but his hands on her hips steady her and she melts into him.

When they pull apart slightly, he raises one of his hands to cup her jaw; and lightly strokes her cheek with the pad of his thumb, brushing away a few tears that she hadn’t realized she had shed.

“I love you.” She says softly, and he smiles gently.

“I love you too.” He says, and she grasps his hand as he lowers it from her face. He squeezes her hand gently, and then he is gone, walking back into the tunnel and vanishing into the dark, as though he is made of shadows.

**II.**

Persephone doesn’t quite know what to make of the metal monstrosity her husband had proudly presented to her a few hours before she was scheduled to depart for the overworld. It’s big and loud and unnatural, but she’d decided to give it a chance because she loves her husband.

So far, it ain't the worst experience she’s ever had, but she’s still trying to get used to the rickety movements and how it shakes like Boreas is trying to push it over. 

Hades had said this moving metal box was for her, to make her bi-annual journey easier. She’d laughed, because it wasn’t like she was  _ that _ old, yet. She’d barely aged in the last two thousand years, it wasn’t like she couldn’t walk  — she certainly didn’t need this unnatural, smoke-belching machine to carry her back up top. 

But Hades had looked so hopeful when he’d dramatically revealed it to her, and explained how he’d laid tracks — well, more likely it’d been some shades he’d contracted to do it for him — all the way up to the mortal world, so she’d agreed to ride it.

Her husband is sweet, underneath all that rigid composure and stony demeanor. After all this time, he’s still makin’ her things as an apology for something he can’t control. She knows that he’s scared that one year she’ll up and leave and not come back the next winter (her husband is also an idiot, sometimes).

So she had taken his hand and let him lead her up the steps into the strange metal box — a locomotive, Hades had called it, when he explained how a shade that had worked as an engineer had told him about this new mortal invention. He’d guided her around the train, pointing out different features and explaining technical details that she tried her best to understand.

Now, sitting on a plush bench in the rear car next to her husband, she relents and acknowledges that it isn’t too unpleasant. She’ll get used to the swaying motion of the carriage and the steady  _ click-clack _ as the machine moves along the rails eventually. 

On the inside, it’s admittedly beautiful. There’s a trim around the inside of their private car, and it’s inlaid with swirled designs of silver and gold that are too precise to be done by anyone other than her husband. They’re beautiful, but not too opulent. 

Hades has clearly made an effort to build something that she will like, because there are several vases of Asphodel flowers and a couple more of assorted flowers from the overworld (she hasn’t got a clue how he managed that). Persephone reaches for a couple of nearby Narcissus flowers, and they bloom a brighter shade of yellow as she touches them. 

She smiles, and carefully tucks one of the flowers from the vase into her valise to put in her room at her Ma’s place. She loves being in the world of the living, but there are some days when she needs a reminder of what’s waiting for her in the fall — her husband and their kingdom way down under the ground. 

They still exchange letters, of course, but they’re far less frequent than they had been centuries ago, when their marriage had been new and the pain of separation had been a fresh wound that stung something awful rather than the dull, throbbing thing that they have since grown used to. Her husband throws himself into his work when she is gone, she knows, balancing ledgers and judging souls. Persephone helps her Ma, visits her family (the ones she can stand, at least) and drinks dandelion wine with mortals. 

Persephone looks out the window of the train car and watches the Asphodel Meadows fly by, the wraiths that populate it barely turning to watch their king and queen pass by. The train jerks roughly as they enter the stone tunnel that leads to the overworld, and Persephone grips the armrest of the bench tightly with one hand. She trusts her husband, but she does not know enough about this new machine to trust  _ it _ yet. 

“Sorry, lover,” Hades says, and places his hand over her other one reassuringly. “I’ll make the rails smoother over the summer.”

He’s frowning, and Persephone knows he hates it when things in the Underworld don’t go perfectly. She knows her husband too well, and she knows that he blames himself for even minor failures. 

“It ain’t that bad,” She shrugs. “And it’s nice, being able to relax before I have to deal with Ma.”

Hades laughs, and she scoots closer to him on the bench, shoving her long skirt out of the way. He adjusts his arm and she tucks herself into his side, resting her head on his shoulder. It  _ is _ nice, this moment of respite before they’re separated for months by miles of stone and dirt. Persephone breathes in, savoring the scent of the Underworld and her husband  — the unique but pleasant mix of asphodel, Earth, and metal. 

Soon, too soon, sunlight streams into the train car as they emerge into the mortal realm. The train begins to slow; and two sharp whistles cut through the air and jolt them out of their interlude. 

They follow their usual goodbye routine, a dance that they’ve done so long they have each step memorized  — a kiss that they both wish could last longer, traded declarations of love, and promises to write. Then it is time to go.

Hades opens the train door, and Persephone adjusts her bodice and smooths her skirt one last time before stepping out onto a wooden platform that her husband has evidently constructed for her. Her Ma isn’t there — she stopped coming to pick her up centuries ago, after Persephone argued she didn’t need supervision to walk a few miles to her summer home — but Hermes is, holding a purple parasol to block out the sun. 

“Hello, sister,” He says. “Uncle.” He bows, and Persephone isn’t sure if he’s actually trying to show respect for her husband or mocking him. Knowing Hermes, it could be either.

“Brother!” She exclaims, and embraces him tightly. Hades simply nods in acknowledgement, not leaving the doorway of the car. Both she and Hermes watch as he closes the door tightly, and they don’t move as the train slowly moves away from the station. A familiar rod of sadness twists in her gut as she watches the machine fade into the forest, clouded in darkness despite the sunny day. 

**III.**

The train is hot and stifling, and she is itching to get back up into the mortal realm. Maybe then she will be able to  _ breathe _ . 

She’d arrived at the beginning of the fall to discover that in her most recent absence her husband had installed more factories and mines. He’d explained that they would help increase the productivity of their kingdom, and let them churn a profit from harvesting the valuables of the Earth. All she had been able to focus on was the unnatural hulks of buildings wedged between the hills of the previously beautiful Asphodel Meadows. Most of the white flowers had been cut down or trampled. 

Before, there had only been a single factory, used to process some of the surface-level precious metals in the kingdom. Now, there were at least ten factories spread across their realm, and several mines stretching down into the depths of the Earth. Hades had been busy that summer.

They were far from their palace, but Persephone could still smell the smoke and hear the incessant clanging every time she opened a window or went outside. It was suffocating.

When she voiced this thought to her husband, he’d acted as though she had personally insulted him, raving about improvements and efficiency and  _ doing it for her _ . 

She didn’t know where Hades had gotten the idea that this industrialization was necessarily, but she wanted to tell him to stop, that the Underworld had been fine for thousands of years and didn’t need these radical changes.  _ She _ didn’t need these radical changes. 

They’d spent the winter walking on eggshells. He didn’t bring up his  _ improvements _ , and she avoided thinking about the shades he’d moved out of Asphodel and forced to swing pickaxes and build machinery constantly. 

She couldn’t escape the smell of smoke or the distant clanging. The only thing that drowned it out was a steady stream of liquor, when she was so boozed up that she could pretend everything was fine. She’d stayed in the Underworld longer than she was supposed to, and she knew that Hades didn’t want to part while they were constantly fuming at each other.

Even now, she can smell the smoke. It’s almost as unbearable as the heat. Her husband seems unfazed by it, his jacket still on and his dress shirt still buttoned up to his throat, even though she’s had to roll up the sleeves of her dress twice now. 

She takes another swig of gin from her flask, and out of the corner of her eye she sees Hades staring at it distastefully. She almost laughs at his clear displeasure. If he didn’t want her to drink, he shouldn’t have put a damn bar in their private carriage. 

She raises her head and stares at him, mentally daring him to say anything. It’s probably not a good idea to start a fight an hour before they arrive in the overworld — Gods know what Hermes would say if the train door opened on them screaming at each other — but alcohol makes her confrontational. 

To her dismay, Hades says nothing, and returns to whatever he is writing in his file. 

“Why’d you bother to come?” She asks, perhaps a bit louder than she had intended to. “If you ain’t gonna even talk to me?”

Hades laughs bitterly, and for a moment she thinks he is going to ignore that too; but then he sets his pen down and meets her gaze. 

“What do you want me to say to a wife that seems to think that drinking herself to death is a better option than spending time with her husband?” He says quietly, although she can still hear the venom in his voice.

“Maybe I wouldn’t drink so much if you didn’t seem hell-bent on making the Underworld as goddamn insufferable as possible!” She spits. “How do you expect me to want to stay in a place like that?!” 

She knows she has grasped the upper hand when Hades stiffens. Her words cleave into his heart, and she knows it. She’s purposefully preyed upon one of his deepest fears, and the hurt that flashes across his face makes her pause for a moment. She deliberates apologizing, but before she can say anything her husband speaks again.

“Well, it’s good that you’re getting your wish.” He says coldly and goes back to his work. She can’t quite decipher the unyielding expression on his face.

Angry, harsh words bubble up in Persephone’s throat, but she decides it isn’t worth it and washes them away with more gin, staring out the train window at the blackness of the tunnel. 

They don’t speak for the rest of the journey, and she panics when the whistle shrieks and the train slows because  _ this isn’t how it’s supposed to be _ . She doesn’t know how to say goodbye with this churning mess between them. 

“See you in the fall,” Is what she settles on, and Hades nods. He presses a chaste kiss to the back of her hand, and she tries to think of something else to say that will fix this unnatural divide. 

But then the train door closes between them, and her unsaid words are drowned out by the screech of the whistle. All that she can do is hope that Hades sees sense between now and the fall, and gets rid of his ridiculous business endeavor. So she turns and greets Hermes, who raises an eyebrow at her.

“You’re late, sister,” He says. “It was a rough winter.”

“Don’t I know it.” She says, and watches her husband’s train fade out of sight. 

Somehow, she knows that there will be no letters this summer. 

  
  


**IV.**

  
  


Persephone is alone in the train, but that isn’t unusual. For the last decade, she’s made the journey back up top by herself, her husband too busy with his factories and machines and  _ children _ to accompany her. This time, she’s alone for a different reason. 

The poet and his girl are making the same journey, albeit on foot, along the long road that leads to the surface. Persephone wonders how far they have progressed, in the hours since both she and the young couple left Hadestown. 

Everything that’s happened in such a short period of time swirls around and around her head. In the span of a few months, Hades had given up on her, tried to seduce an innocent girl, changed his mind because of the poet, and promised her they would try again _.  _ Her husband was giving her whiplash.

The memory of him staring at her as he loosened his tie before stepping into his office behind Eurydice makes her heart sink, and her fingers instinctively reach for her flask before she remembers that she is supposed to  _ try.  _ So instead, she picks Hades’ carnation out of her valise and cradles it gently in her hands  — for some reason, she feels as if she holds it too tightly it will crumble. 

She wonders if her husband meant it when he said they’d try. Her heart aches at the thought that she’ll just return in six months to more stifling foundries and a taller wall. The poet’s song may have hammered a fissure into the King’s walls, but would he let them tumble down or simply fill in the cracks?

Stars, she hopes they can fix it. She yearns with all her soul for what they used to have, centuries ago, before the strain of the world got a bit too heavy to hold up without tension. Orpheus has reminded them of that time; and maybe, just maybe, given them another chance.

Persephone feels the train shift slightly beneath her, and after decades of making this trip she knows this means she has almost reached the overworld. She wonders if she can make it to Hermes’ hole-in-the-wall bar before Orpheus and Eurydice return. Because she has to believe that they’ll be successful, for her own sake — if they can do it, so can Hades and Persephone.

It won’t be easy, and it won’t be quick, but she knows they can make it — all four of them — if they try. As the train emerges from the dark tunnel into the bright mortal realm, she resolves to tear down that damn wall brick-by-brick with her bare hands if she has to. Even if the poet fails, she’ll keep trying, because she’s realized that she cannot go on as she is. 

She stands, pulls her flask out of her bag, and crosses the private car, pulling the door to the observation deck at the rear of the carriage open quickly. Before she can overthink her decision, she raises her arm and throws the flask as far as she can into the forest to the left of the train tracks. She’s going to  _ try _ .

Persephone stands on the deck, clutching the rails, and watches the entrance to the underworld grow smaller and smaller in the distance. The wind dances through her hair, and for once the Fates are not whispering manipulatively in her ear. 

When the train’s whistle shrieks to signal their arrival at the station, Persephone reenters the car and picks up her valise. She can’t see Hermes out on the platform, so she assumes he’s monitoring the poet from a distance, rooting for his success.

She tucks Hades’ carnation behind her ear, and steps out of the train. She breathes in deeply, and the air smells of spring and life and renewal. She’s going to  _ try. _

  
  


**V.**

  
  


Their old steam locomotive has been outdated in the mortal world for decades, but they’re sentimental fools and wouldn’t dream of replacing it. Besides, nobody pays attention to two old gods anymore.

They’ve just left the tunnel and entered the overworld, and sunlight streams in through the windows. Persephone sets the novel she’s been reading down, and stands to open a few of the train windows slightly, letting the spring breeze twirl through the train car. She shrugs when her husband raises an eyebrow at her, even though he’s smiling.

“Bit of fresh air won’t kill ya,” She says, and returns to her seat on the bench next to him. 

“I know, lover,” Hades says, and adjusts his position slightly so she can rest her feet on his lap before returning to the file he’s reading. 

It’s another modified contract that she helped him draft a few weeks ago, to help the Underworld adapt to the increased influx of shades from the mortal realm. Soon, he’ll negotiate it with the worker’s union (led by the poet and his girl, who’d reunited after Orpheus’ death several decades ago). 

It’s taken  _ years _ , but they’re tearing down the walls — figuratively and literally. They both still have the remnants of mostly-healed calluses on their hands from knocking down bricks. Both of them could remedy them quickly (they’re gods, after all) but they leave them, as a reminder.

It’s comin’ up on a century since the fiasco with Orpheus and Eurydice, and they’re still  _ trying _ . It hasn’t been flawless, because nothing’s ever flawless and you can’t absolve decades of belligerence without effort; but Persephone knows that slowly, slowly, they’re mending. 

When the train pulls into the station, there are no mortals waiting for her. There aren’t any springtime revelries to honor her return anymore, but somehow she doesn’t mind. Perhaps she’s just getting old. 

Hermes is there, though, leaning against a wall and clutching a letter that is presumably from her Ma — her annual invitation to celebrate the beginning of summer by baking biscuits and drinking sweet tea. Persephone had moved out of her Ma’s house and into a rural cottage of her own the summer after the poet had toppled her husband’s walls, because she knew she wouldn’t be able to repair her marriage if her mother spent every day telling her she should just stay up top year-round. Plus, it’s easier for her husband to visit when her Ma isn’t looming over them the whole time. 

Hades opens the train door for her (because after all this time, he’s still a gentleman) and she takes his outstretched hand as she steps down off the train. He kisses her softly, and his hand traces one of the flowers in her hair as they pull apart.

“I’ll be up to visit as soon as I can,” He says, and Persephone smiles. In the sunlight, her husband’s eyes are a lighter chocolate color instead of their usual dark, almost-black brown. 

“See you soon, lover,” She says, and smooths the lapels of his suit. As Hades boards the train and it starts to move away from the station, she has to hold onto the flowers in her hair to prevent them from being blown away.

While she watches the train disappear into the distance, she no longer feels the sadness or uncertainty that tainted the beginning of the springs early in her marriage, or the drunken rage that she lived off of during the summers decades ago. Now, she knows that her husband will be back, and she knows she’ll wait for him. 

It ain’t perfect, but it’s what they’ve got. The shriek of the train whistle, the rustle of the wind through the leaves of the trees, the quiet hum of electricity in the Underworld — it’s all part of their song, playing over and over and over again, for the rest of time. 

**Author's Note:**

> Mythology notes:
> 
> Hera and Amphitrite - The wives of Zeus and Poseidon, respectively.
> 
> Boreas - The greek god of the North wind, sometimes depicted as the actual personification of the wind. 
> 
> Narcissus Flowers - Daffodils! They appear frequently in one of the original versions of the Hades & Persephone, and they also symbolize the beginning of Spring.
> 
> Just for fun here’s a general idea of what kind of dress Persephone would be wearing for scene II: https://maggiemayfashions.com/1830s-era-transitional-gown/


End file.
